Take Me Back
by EmeraldEuphoria
Summary: Some people are born to help the sick; they become doctors. Some people are born to help the wrongly accused; they become laywers. Others, keep the justice on the streets. While some cook, and some clean and some paint, write, teach or sing. I was born to love Brittany.


**A/N: First of all, this was all typed on my iPhone so... Excuse me.., I don't have any access to a WiFi connections at the moment, but I'll edit it this weekend.**

**I wrote this after Grease. So this is right after Santana finished with the play. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than the mediocre plot :/**

* * *

Some people are born to help the sick; they become doctors. Some people are born to help the wrongly accused; they become laywers. Others, keep the justice on the streets. While some cook, and some clean and some paint, write, teach or sing.

I was born to love Brittany.

It's as simple as that. There's nothing else in the whole world that I feel better doing, than loving Brittany S. Pierce.

That's why I'm currently in my old high school's bathroom stall, crying my eyes out. Quietly mind you, I don't want anyone actually finding me.

I know that Brittany would take me back, I know it. But I don't want her to just take me back because she's used to me or she's not sure what else to do.

I'm not saying Brittany can't make her own choices; I grew up making sure everybody knew this, but I just... When it comes to me, Brittany loses all ability to think rationally or logically. And vice versa.

I'm sitting in a stall, quietly sobbing my heart out and my body feels like it's trying to kill me, like it's punishing me for keeping my sobs in. And all because Brittany said, well _insinuated_, that she'd get back together with me in a heart beat.

It's pathetic, isn't it? _I'm_ pathetic. I have (had) the world's most amazing human being and I can't seem to go two days without hurting her. I can't go two minutes without doubting myself. I can't go two second without feeling like a completely worthless, lousy excuse for a human being. Which is why I'm not good for beautiful, amazing, wonderful Brittany.

I can feel the tears making their way down my cheeks, and I can literally feel my make up ruined, but I can't bring myself to wipe my tears away. I'm too exhausted. Too wiped out.

I sit up straighter once I hear the bathroom door open, and I silently drag my legs up, resting my chin on them. Footsteps echo in the space outside of my stall until they stop right in front of it. I can see the person's shadow, and I have a very clear idea on who it is.

"Santana," Brittany quietly demands. She's demanding I open the door. She's demanding I let her in, because she'd never, ever force me out. She's demanding I talk to her. She's demanding I let her know what's wrong.

"Britt..."

I hear a sigh, then I see her slide down against the door, sitting on the floor. And I get the thought that someone as beautiful as Brittany shouldn't sit on the dirty bathroom floor.

She gives me a few minutes, "Why are you crying?"

I shrug, even though she can't see me.

Another sigh, "I cried for two weeks straight after you "unofficially" broke up with me," I don't really know why she's telling me this; it only works to make me cry harder, "And, once, my mom heard me. You know what she did, San?" I know she's not looking for an answer, "She brought me ice cream and didn't really try to calm me down or anything," I just knew she was shaking her head calmly, "She just said to me, _"Brittany, she loves you. And a love that strong will always win,"_ and then she left,"

I sniffle, trying to stay quiet, Brittany's story is important for a reason other than to make me feel bad.

"See," she continues, "I didn't _need_ her, I didn't _want_ her, and my mom knew that; I needed and wanted you, and in a way, I knew you felt the same, which hurt really bad," she grew quiet for a few seconds, "Because, San, no matter how much something hurt me, nothing hurt as much as you feeling pain did. When I was with Artie, when you told me you loved me, when you broke up with me, my pain only became that much stronger because I knew you were hurting too,"

I wiped my tears away with the palm of my hand. Something told me Brittany really needed me to come out of the stall and not just to make sure I was okay, "Santana, it's really twisted if I'm hurting because you're hurting because I'm hurting," she chuckled.

A chocked giggle escaped me.

"So, can you come out please?"

I took a deep breath. My left foot hit the ground, followed by my right. I placed my hand palm flat on the door and took another deep breath. Knowing Brittany was outside waiting for me, gave me the courage to unlock the stall's door.

Brittany was leaning against the sink, smiling. She opened her arms a little and I shakingly stumbled to her warm comfort. My tears multiplying and lessening at the same time, at the feel of her arms wrapped around me.

"Britt... Britt..." I kept mumbling. I'm not sure what I was trying to say, by she seemed to.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," she whispered, kissing my temple, "It's okay. I'm right here, hun,"

After I'd managed to stop sobbing, I tried my hand at talking, "Brittany..."

"Yes, baby?"

I lifted my head from her chest to look at her eyes, "I'm scared,"

She smiled, a little sadly, "It's okay, San. It can be my turn to be brave, if you want," she said kindly.

I didn't want her to have to be brave, I didn't want her to protect me! That was my job; I was supposed to take care of her.

"Stop," she chastised. I blinked, confused, and unsure of what she meant.

"Stop over thinking it," she raised an eyebrow, "I love you. And you love me. And that's that."

Never have I ever heard words better than those.

Some people are born to be doctors, others are born to be lawyers. I was born to love Brittany S. Pierce. And if she wanted to give me another chance, I sure as hell wasn't about to refuse her.

* * *

What did you think? Was it crap? Good?

Review!


End file.
